Hush
A lullaby you rock. Hold your phone like a cradle and rock it gently side to side: every time a swing turns round, a music box plays the next note of the tune, and eight swings finish a line of the story. Then the view zooms out to show what the cradle is rocking in: a little ship, on a wave, on the wide sea, held by the moon, held by the night, held by the world. Each new thing joins the lullaby with a sound of its own (a creak, the wash of the sea, a low drone, a glassy shimmer, slow chords, a deep hum), and it gets later as you go, the blush dusk darkening to night as the stars come out. Nothing on the page ever stops rocking, even when you do. With no tilt sensor, drag side to side.
By Ear
A spirit level you read with your ears. Lay your phone on a shelf, a table or a picture frame and two pairs of notes start to beat against each other, one pair for each direction it can tilt. The further off level it is, the faster the wah-wah; as you shim it closer the beat slows to one every few seconds, and when it is true it stops and the two notes fuse into one. When both directions are true a third note joins them into a chord. Stand the phone on its edge and it reads the line it rests on and whether the wall is plumb. The glow in each brass-capped vial is the measured loudness of its notes, so you see the beat you hear. Zero it on any surface you trust; with no tilt sensor, drag to tilt it.
Reel
A kitchen timer with no words or numbers anywhere on it. Swipe up (or scroll down) to pull a tape off a reel: every minute is a bead on the tape, every fifth a bigger bead, every quarter hour a ring and every hour a violet disc, and the reel ratchets as each one comes off. Let go and the reel starts winding the tape back in at the speed of time, and the page quietly scrolls itself back to the top as it goes, because the scroll position is the time left. A faint ladder of the same beads on either side lights up as high as the tape reaches, so you can read it at a glance. When the knot reaches the reel it rings with glass bells and violet rings; tap the reel to pause, or to answer it.
Brim
A glass jar you hold under the tap of English Wikipedia for exactly one minute. Press the button and, for sixty seconds, every edit anyone in the world makes to English Wikipedia drops into the jar as a pebble, live: the bigger the change, the bigger the pebble. Aubergine pebbles added words, pale pink ones cut them, jade ones are brand-new articles and grey ones were made by bots. The pebbles tumble and pile up like real stones, and you can grab and throw them while the minute runs. Each one slowly fades as the minute goes on, so the pile reads in layers, oldest at the bottom. When the minute is up the tap shuts, a cork drops in and the label is written: the time, how many edits, how many bytes went in and came out. After that nothing in the jar moves again, but you can tap any pebble to see which article it was and open it.
Wake
A night swim in a bioluminescent bay, told while you stir the water. The screen is black water on a moonless night; drag your finger through it and the bay answers in blue, a cloud of tiny flickering sparks that flare where you move fast and fade in about a second. The story only moves on while you keep stirring: the guide, the creatures making the light, a fish bolting below you like a comet, a rain shower where every drop lands a spark, and a red lamp calling you back to the boat. Stir the same patch over and over and it dims, the way the real cells run out of light and need a few seconds to recharge. The words glow with the water and sink back into the dark when you stop.
Hanger
Table shuffleboard where the physics is your phone’s own scrolling. The puck sits still in the middle of the screen and the table slides under it: flick the page once, let go, and the momentum carries the table on and slows it down, the way a weight coasts down a waxed board. Where the page stops is where your puck stopped. Short of the foul line scores nothing, then one, two and three as you get nearer the far end, and four for a hanger, the puck hanging over the edge and still on the wood. Go too far and it tips into the alley. The scoreboard at the top calls it as you slide, with the feet and inches still to go. One flick, hands off; scroll back up to throw again. There is no code in the game at all: the scoring, the call, the puck’s spin and its tumble off the end are all worked out by the page’s styles from how far you have scrolled.
Mouth
A map of your vowels, drawn while you talk. Every vowel you say carries two hidden resonances that give away how open your mouth is and where your tongue sits; Mouth listens, reads them off your voice about sixty times a second, and drops each moment into one square of an eight-by-eight chart laid out the way phoneticians draw the vowel chart: front of the mouth on the left, back on the right, closed at the top, open at the bottom. Talk, sing, read something aloud, and pink dots grow in the squares your voice lives in, in eight steps, so the chart slowly becomes a portrait of your accent. The thirteen common vowels are printed where they usually land and light up as you reach them. A white box hops from square to square with you, trailing the last eight. Tap any square to hear what a voice sounds like there. No microphone? Demo plays a synthetic voice round the chart and the page reads it exactly the way it reads you. Your map is kept on your phone for next time.
Plate
A square steel plate strewn with sand, played like a keyboard. Each of sixteen keys bows the plate at one of its resonances: you hear a long, rasping, ringing note, and the sand is thrown off every part of the plate that shakes and gathers on the lines that stay still, drawing that note’s figure. Higher keys are higher notes and busier figures, the way a real plate behaves. Let go and the plate rings down and the sand stops where it lands. Hold two keys and it only settles where both are still, so chords draw shapes no single note can. Every key wears its own figure, so you can see what a note will draw before you play it. Nothing on the page moves until you touch it. Use your keyboard (A to K and Q to I), or the keys on screen; slide a finger across them to glide from figure to figure. Space pours fresh sand.
Copy
Whistle Morse at your phone and it writes down what you sent, and then somebody answers. A short whistle is a dit, a long one a dah; every whistle is drawn on a moving paper tape as you make it, and each letter lands huge on screen the moment you pause, then rides the tape away above the marks that made it. It learns your speed as you go, the way an operator learns a sender’s hand. Stop for a couple of seconds and a far station called VBS keys a reply back in coral, in real operator shorthand, with what it means written underneath: send CQ and it answers your call, SOS and it asks where you are, 73 and it signs off. No microphone, or a quiet room? Hold the key or the space bar instead. The crib sheet lists every letter by how common it is and lights the ones you could still be making as you send. A remix of Sounder, which sent Morse; this one receives it.
Sixty
A loop pedal whose loop is the real minute. The dial is one minute of the clock in four rings, a bell, a pluck, a clap and a thump; tap a ring and a note lands at that second, and the actual second hand sweeps round and plays it, then plays it again sixty seconds later, and every minute after. Tap the middle to drop a note on the beat you are hearing. The hour picks the key, a fifth higher every hour and minor after dark, and each minute moves to the next chord of a four-chord loop, so the same pattern is a different riff every minute and a different song every hour. Your pattern rides in the link, and because playback is the clock rather than a tempo, two phones on the same link play the same note at the same second. Not a speck of black or white anywhere.
Trio
An instrument of three heavy pucks on a plum felt tray, played by tilting your phone. Lean it and they slide downhill; when one strikes the edge it rings like the thing it is made of: the big teal one a low bronze bell, the bone one a glass, the small sage one a brass bowl. Which edge it hits picks its note, the bottom sounding home and the left, right and top one, two and three steps up the scale, so tipping the tray around plays a tune. When two pucks meet, both ring. A sharp jolt of the phone throws them, and whatever note each last rang is engraved on its face. There is nothing else on screen. No tilt? Drag and fling the pucks, or tip the tray with the arrow keys.
Unison
What else sings your note? A ruler of 44 real things that make a steady pitch, from a cat’s purr and the 50 Hz hum of the power grid to a honeybee’s wings, the dial tone, concert A and its rivals, a mosquito and a smoke alarm. Tap once, then hum: the ruler slides under your voice so your note always sits on the reading line, and whatever is printed there is what you are in unison with. Hold the note and that thing answers you, in its own voice, at your pitch. There are no buttons; your voice is the only control. As you go it measures your reach, from your lowest steady note to your highest, and counts how many of the 44 fall inside it. No microphone? A ghost hums instead.
Since
A stopwatch that lives in its own link. Press the crown to start, the pusher to take laps, name what you are timing, and watch the address change with every press: there is no storage anywhere, so the link is the whole stopwatch. Send it to someone and it is running on their phone too, to the hundredth, because a start time plus the clock is all a running stopwatch is. Bookmark it and it is still counting next week. The back button is undo, even for reset. The hands and the dot-matrix digits are pure CSS, ticking five times a second like a mechanical movement.
Haystack
A word search printed on a heap of stencilled straw. Over a thousand capital letters lie strewn a little crooked and a little too small to read, and seven words on a theme are hidden among them, running any of eight ways, even backwards. Your finger is a loupe you can’t see: the only sign of it is that the letters under it swell, straighten up and fall into rows, and the one at its centre turns cream. Drag along a word to pull it out, and it stays scarlet, like a needle. Flick and the loupe coasts on. Six haystacks, a clock, and your best time for each.
Adrift
A message in a bottle on the real sea. Write one letter, in ink that doesn’t come off: there is no backspace, no undo, and even a half-written draft is kept. Then hold down one of six shores until it fills, and the bottle is thrown. It drifts on the actual surface currents of the last sixty days, looked up hour by hour at wherever it happens to be floating, while its own log writes itself one day at a time: how far it went and which way, how big the waves were, the coasts it passed. It sails until it catches up with today, then carries on a little further each time you come back, until it washes ashore and your letter is read by whoever finds it. Every bottle you throw stays thrown.
Mimic
A soft peach creature that sings back whatever you hum it. Hum, whistle or "la" a few notes and stop: it listens with a real pitch tracker, works out the notes you meant, then sings the tune straight back in its own gooey voice, same rhythm, moved up into its register and snapped to the nearest true note, so it always sings it a little better than you did. Its mouth, swell and skin move in time with every note it sings. Underneath, a score strip shows both of you: the wobbly line is what you actually sang, the pills are what it heard. No mic? Tap it and it sings its favourite tune. A remix of Gloop, taught to sing with the pitch tracking from Standstill.
Dead Level
A bullseye spirit level you play with your phone. Tilt it and the bubble drifts toward the high side through the spirit, lagging and settling the way a real one does and squashing flat when it hits the rim. Twelve rings are scribed into the glass one at a time. Float the bubble into each and hold it there while the ring closes around it. The rings shrink as you go, the later ones slowly circle the vial, and the twelfth is dead centre. Each mark you hold rings a glass note one step up the scale and stays scribed where you found it, and the clock keeps your best time. Everything, from the knurled bezel to the bubble’s glint, is one chartreuse hue drawn in SVG.
Hoist
A signal-flag composer for sailors, and for anyone who wants to spell their name the way ships do. Type a message and each letter runs up a halyard as its International Code flag, with numbers as tapered pennants and spaces as a bare tackline. Six flags hang on a halyard and up to four halyards fit on one screen that never scrolls, so the flags shrink to fit as you type. Tap any flag to read its name and what it means flown alone. Oscar, for instance, means man overboard. A few whole hoists, like NC for distress or UW for “I wish you a pleasant voyage”, are recognised as signals in their own right. Every flag is drawn in CSS alone, and they flutter in a wind made of moving gradients.
Heartwood
A story you scroll into, told by the cross-section of a ponderosa pine. The cut face starts whole, bark and all, and every flick of the thumb carries you one ring deeper and one year further back, from the tree’s felling in 2025 to the pith it grew from in 1702. The disc you see lit is always the tree as it stood in that year; everything it hadn’t grown yet hangs around it as an oxblood ghost. On the way in, the rings themselves tell the story: the hairline of the 2002 drought, seven lean midcentury years, the fat rings of the wet 1910s that the Colorado River was divided by, strings of charcoal beads for the low fires it lived through until grazing ended them in 1879. Every word rides a circle around the ring you are standing on, and nothing on screen is a rectangle.
Gloop
A little jade creature that lives in your microphone. Talk, hum, or sing to it and it wakes — swelling like a lung as you hold a note, its glassy skin rippling with the live waveform of your own voice, warming toward mint as your pitch climbs and flinching with a wobble when you shout. Go quiet and it settles into a slow, glowing breath, blinking and glancing about like a curious pet. It is a raw-WebGL raymarched blob driven by real-time microphone analysis; tap once to let it listen — nothing is recorded or leaves your device — and it will keep humming to itself if you would rather not.
Motes
A live air-quality monitor that renders the air as matter you can watch settle. It pulls the six pollutants the World Health Organization tracks — fine and coarse particulates, ozone, nitrogen dioxide, sulphur dioxide and carbon monoxide — from a keyless public feed for wherever you point it, then drops each one as a shower of particles into its own glass column, where they fall and pile up under a small physics solver. Each column fills to its real concentration, and a single vermilion line runs across the middle at the WHO guideline: any mote that comes to rest above that line turns red, so a healthy reading sits as a low grey heap and a bad one piles red over the mark. The exact figures are printed underneath in mono, with each pollutant’s multiple of the guideline. Switch between cities or use your own location, and drag across the columns to stir the air.
Peal
A ring of tuned chimes that the real clock plays. Twenty-four little tines circle the dial, and the three hands are the plectra — as the second hand sweeps it strikes each tine it passes, so what you hear is the passage of this exact minute, with the minute and hour hands adding slow, low counter-voices beneath. The day seeds the ring’s melody (a pentatonic walk, so every stroke stays in tune) and the hour bends it bright and major by day, soft and minor by night, while the blush ground warms toward noon and cools toward dusk. You can play it yourself too: tap a tine to pluck it, or drag a finger around the face to scrub a glissando. All inline SVG, all WebAudio — no samples, no libraries.
Limner
A living Book of Hours whose leaf is truly illuminated — and the illumination is generated, not drawn once. Each hour of your real day opens with its own decorated versal initial, a gold letter on a lapis field, and a marginal vine that grows down the page. As the day brightens the plant gilds and blooms: ink-and-sage leaves at first light warm to gold leaf by noon, buds that sit closed in the small hours open into vermilion-hearted flowers, and gold besants brighten along the stem. The plant’s shape is fixed for each hour, so returning to an hour returns to its own leaf, but its gilding tracks the light live. Twenty-four lyric passages carry the day from midnight to the last lamp; a soft WebAudio drone tunes itself to the hour — dark and low at midnight, open and bright at noon — and a small bell rings as you turn each leaf. On a terracotta bole ground, the red clay medieval gilders laid beneath their gold. A remix of Book of Hours.
Sounder
A working telegraph key that also gives away its own secret. Type a message and it leaves the key as real Morse — sample-accurate dits and dahs shaped by the Web Audio clock, a brass lamp flashing magenta with every element and a groove of dots and dashes streaming down the wire. Slow it down or speed it up from 10 to 35 words a minute, or press "hold to key" and send by hand. Below the key, the data: all 26 letters ranked by how often they appear in English, their codes getting longer as the letters get rarer. E is a single dit and Q draws four beats because Morse handed the commonest letters the cheapest codes — a compression scheme built by hand. Your own message is measured live against the alphabet, and the story of how they knew which letters mattered is stranger than the code.
Riffle
A hand-drawn flipbook you riffle with your thumb. Scroll and a plump little blob named Boing bounces once per page-loop — squashing flat on the deck with a spray of lime spark lines, stretching thin as it launches, winking at the top of its hop. Scroll slowly and you flip page by page, each drawing crisp with its neighbours ghosted alongside like onion-skin; scroll fast and the frames smear into fluid motion. You are the projector and your thumb sets the frame rate — freeze on a single drawing, crawl through it, or riffle it into a movie. Every frame is drawn live in canvas from one continuous scroll value, so the loop is seamless and you can riffle it forever. On a laptop the mouse wheel does the flipping.
Nocturne
A hurdy-gurdy you crank with your finger. Drag in slow circles over the wheel and the drone strings swell to life, brightening as you turn faster and fading as you slow — the wheel even has weight, coasting on and ringing a little after you let go. Every second turn the buzzing bridge rasps out its signature "chien," so the rhythm rides your cranking speed, and the row of keys across the top plays the melody string over the top — but only while the wheel is moving, just like the real thing. Entirely synthesised in the browser with no samples: two saw bourdons tuned a fifth apart, a filtered melody voice, and a percussive noise-and-square buzz, all driven by the angular velocity of your drag. Deep-midnight ground, coral glow, and a wheel that turns exactly where your finger takes it. On a laptop the A–K keys walk the scale and holding Space turns the crank.
Teeter
A wooden tilt-maze you play by leaning your phone. A steel marble rolls across a birch board and you steer it past the holes to the teal cup — lean too far and it drops, resetting you to the start. Three hand-built boards, a running clock, and your best time kept for each. Every wall, hole and the marble itself is a plain page element moved by a little physics loop; no arrow-key sensor needed, arrows or WASD tilt the board on a laptop.
Standstill
A strobe tuner that reads your instrument through the microphone and holds a black-and-bone disc perfectly still the moment you land in tune. Play a note and three counter-rotating rings of teeth drift — one way when you're sharp, the other when you're flat, faster the further off you are; ease onto the pitch and they lock motionless as the whole face warms to a soft sage glow, a lamp lights, and the note settles in the hub with its cents reading. The entire instrument is pure CSS — repeating conic-gradient rings masked into an engraved bezel — with JavaScript doing nothing but pitch detection and feeding the detuning into a single rotation variable. A linear cents meter tracks alongside for anyone with motion turned off, and the reference A is adjustable from 430 to 446 Hz.
Ghostwriter
A haunted typewriter that writes its own letter through your fingers. Press any key — or hold anywhere on a phone — and the machine inks the next character of a short, eerie confession it has already decided; the keys you actually choose never matter. Every sound is synthesised live in WebAudio: the bright clack of a hammer on the platen, the deeper thunk of the spacebar, a metallic margin bell five characters before each carriage return, and the whirr-and-thunk of the carriage coming back. Underneath runs a low, detuned room-tone drone that darkens through the story's five movements and lifts, on a rising fifth, at the release. Hot rose ink glows on dark plum paper; the words just ahead of the write-head sit as a faint impression — all the machine will let you glimpse of what it already knows.
Orbis
An antique cartographic seismograph. The last 24 hours of earthquakes are inked as scarlet epicentres onto a warm saffron world map — each drawn exactly where the ground moved, pulled live from the USGS. Set the world turning and a scarlet needle sweeps west to east across the plate, sounding every tremor as it passes: bigger quakes ring lower and longer, shallow ones brighter, all tuned to a minor-pentatonic scale, so the Pacific rim arrives as one crowded chord. Tap any epicentre on the map — or a line in the register beneath it — to sound that quake alone. Coastlines from Natural Earth; the bell voice is inherited from Temblor and panned by longitude.
Gust
An aeolian light-harp you play by tilting your phone. Nine cyan light-strings stand on a deep forest-green ground; tilt the device and a breeze slides across them — held in a shallow tray, it strikes the walls and sloshes back, plucking each string it passes into a rising pentatonic bell. A gentle lean rings a single note; a flick sends the breeze the whole way across for a glissando. The strings are drawn in raw WebGL — a fullscreen fragment shader, so the bloom is real light — and the bells are synthesised in WebAudio with an inharmonic shimmer and a soft delay tail. On desktop you lean with the pointer, tap a string to pluck it, or play the a–l keys.
Solar Wind
A live telemetry piece where the particle field IS the data. It reads the real-time solar wind a million miles upstream — DSCOVR at the L1 point, via NOAA — and draws the plasma streaming past: the streaks flow at the true speed in km/s, thicken with the measured density, and warm from cyan through auroral green to magenta as the interplanetary field turns southward (Bz < 0) and the wind starts to couple with Earth. A small world on the right has its bow shock pressed inward as dynamic pressure climbs, and a condition banner reads QUIET → STORM. Deep teal ground, stencil telemetry, one burnt-ochre accent. If the feed can’t be reached it falls back to a physically-plausible simulation and says so.
Downstream
A short story told as one unbroken ink line that draws itself while you scroll — the pen never lifts. Following a single drop of water, the line falls from a grey cloud as rain, gathers into a stream, widens into a river, plunges over a waterfall, and is taken back by the sea, before the sun lifts it, light again, into the sky. A live emerald bead rides the pen tip at the drawing’s leading edge; seven handwritten stanzas surface beside the water as it passes. Pale-celadon paper, walnut-sepia ink, a single continuous SVG path revealed by scroll position.
Elsewhen
The same instant, told by humanity’s other clocks. A phone-first time tool built as one deep-indigo instrument panel: a peach day-dial fills as the hours burn, and at its centre the current moment reads out in French Republican decimal time — the ten-hour revolutionary day. Below it, the identical instant recomputes live in five more systems: Swatch Internet @beats, Greenwich sidereal star-time, Unix epoch seconds, the astronomers’ Julian Date, and the day-of-year. Everything ticks every frame from your own device clock; nothing is sent anywhere.
Clack
A Newton's cradle desk toy you can actually play with — five polished brass bobs hanging from an engraved gantry on a field of deep crimson lacquer. Grab any bob and pull it aside; let go and momentum clacks across the row so one bob flies out the far end. Pull two out and two answer, pull three and three answer — the toy keeps the count. It is pure DOM physics: a pendulum integrator and a sequential elastic-collision solver writing transforms straight onto the swinging divs, no canvas and no sound.
Zest
A webcam citrus-slicer — your hand is the blade. Limes, lemons and oranges are flung up from the floor of an acid-lime arena; wave your hand and a glowing slate trail cuts through them, spraying juice, while a real-time read of the camera feed turns your motion into the cut. Chain slices for a combo multiplier, dodge the chillies, and don’t let three fruit hit the floor. All motion is read on-device from the camera — nothing is recorded or sent.
Consonance
A harmonograph you can hear. A harmonograph traces the shape of a musical interval: two pendulums whose frequencies sit in a small-integer ratio draw a Lissajous figure. Consonance closes the loop back to sound — pick an interval and the same ratio both draws its figure and rings as a two-note chord. Nudge DRIFT and the two axes detune a hair: the plate slowly precesses in exactly the rhythm you hear the two tones beating. Pluck lets a figure draw and fade; Drone holds the chord while the plate breathes. Warm-dark mahogany cabinet, ivory silverpoint trace, a vermilion pen glow.
Parallax
A pocket 3D atlas of the Sun’s neighbourhood — the 32 nearest star systems plotted in true space from their catalogued positions, glowing in their real spectral colours. Tilt your phone (or drag) to orbit the little volume of space and watch near stars sweep across far ones; the closer a star, the more it shifts — the same motion parallax astronomers use to measure these very distances. Tap any star for its name, distance and type. Rendered as glowing WebGL points inside a faint jade reference cage of light-year rings.
Rosette
A scroll-spun mandala — the whole page is the crank. Scroll down and five nested rings of luminous petals rotate against each other, each spinning at its own rate and breathing on its own cosine phase, so the same gesture blooms a kaleidoscopic pattern that never quite repeats within a turn. Drag the page back up and the entire bloom unwinds. The motion is pure CSS: one custom property carries the scroll position and every rotation, radius-breath and colour drift is calc()/trig off that single number.
Beamline
A keyboard-driven laser puzzle on a slate optics bench — one amber beam leaves the aperture and you steer a reticle across the grid to spin the 45° mirrors under it, arching the light over walls and through welded prisms into the sensor. The beam re-solves live on every keystroke, so you watch it snap around the board as each mirror turns; six hand-built levels climb from a single quarter-turn bend to a full staircase across the bench
Book of Hours
A lay book of hours reimagined as one luminous day — twenty-four illuminated passages of an ordinary day, from the wolf's hour before dawn to the last lamp before the turn. The real clock decides which page is alive: the present hour glows with a gilt bookmark and a WebAudio drone tuned to the light — dark and low at midnight, open and bright at noon. Leaf through the whole day if you like, but the book is only true at the hour it keeps, so the rest waits for you to return
Temblor
A playable rack of tuned steel tines where every rod is a real earthquake from the last 24 hours, pulled live from the USGS — the bigger the quake the lower and longer its tone, so a great rumble reads as a deep gong and a small tremor as a high chime; tap to ring one, drag to strum the rack, or let the planet play itself
Loam
A field of noise you sculpt with one finger — drag left-to-right to pull the sound from bright white hiss through balanced pink to the deep sub-heavy roar of brown noise, and up-to-down to muffle it under a resonant low-pass; the ground warms and darkens to match whatever you are hearing, and a coral horizon of live spectrum breathes along the floor
Sandstriders
A self-walking herd of wind-powered beach creatures — raise the wind (drag the dial or swipe the sand to gust) and their cranks spin up, legs churn, and they stride toward the low sun, trailing long teal shadows and stamping footprints into the wet gold sand
Bloom
A story told in petals — breathe warmth into a closed bud (hum, speak, or press and hold) and ring by ring it opens, each ring lifting one line of a small poem; let it be and it gently folds back, but the words it has already given stay given
Bead Curtain
A hanging beaded doorway you play by moving — wave a hand at the front camera and the strands part and swing, each bead ringing its strand's note on a small bell; drag through the beads if the camera is off
Sonometer
A precision sound-level meter that reads the room through your microphone — an engraved dBFS scale with a fast-attack, slow-release red needle and a peak-hold marker, a log-spaced spectrum of silver bars, and a cartouche of live peak, Leq, and the dominant frequency with its nearest musical note
Quicksilver
A bead of liquid chrome you can play with — drag to smear and stretch it, flick to fling droplets that arc back and merge under fake surface tension, and tap to split it into a burst; rendered as screen-space metaballs in a magenta-lit WebGL room with cyan glints
Harmonograph
A virtual pendulum drawing machine — tune four swings by frequency, phase, amplitude and damping and watch a fine steel line trace the decaying figure onto green baize; keys 1–4 pick a pendulum, arrows and brackets tune it, and you can save the plate as a PNG
Hairline
A precision game against the real clock — a hairline sweeps the dial once every true second and you tap the instant it crosses the top; land inside the gate and it narrows as your streak grows
Planisphere
A live star chart of the sky above you — real planets, Moon and the brightest stars placed by true altitude and azimuth; wheel time or teleport between cities and watch the dome re-hang
Vibes Homeworld
The archived explorable 2.5D isometric room — walk around to discover prototypes
Pop Directory
The archived Neo-Brutalist / Pop home page — flat colour-block cards on a physics-driven blob background.
Typography Experiments
Epic CSS typography playground + classic effects
The Music Corner
Lightweight Fun Digital Piano
Binaural Beats
Neural frequency generator with session modes
Paella Treatise
A mini treatise on Spain's iconic rice dish
Bootstrap 5 Theme Builder
Interactive customizer for Bootstrap 5 CSS variables
Weather Concierge
One witty, useful weather message from your IP location
Aether
Ham radio simulator — tune bands, hear phantom stations, experience propagation physics.
Aether Soundboard
Faithful Web Audio recreations of the Aether app's AudioEngine sounds — preview and tune hiss, hum, swish, squelch, roger beep + CommsFilter.
Color Concierge
Drop an image, get a named palette + one note on why the colours work
Spectrogram
Live mic input painted as a scrolling frequency waterfall
Poster Maker
Seeded Swiss-grid posters you can shuffle and export as PNG
Drone Garden
Touch-first generative drone synth — plant evolving tones with your fingers
Drone Bloom
The Drone Garden synth as a botanical garden — every held tone grows a flowering plant
Cyber Sandbox
The original neon home — canvas FX, dodging Keanus, time-of-day skin, glitch text
Membrane
Generative aura bubbles — warped, grainy gradient membranes you can shuffle and export
Wine Chooser
Snap a restaurant wine list; OCR + a built-in sommelier pick your ideal dry, crisp, mineral white
ALOFT
Keep the orb aloft — tap below it to bump it up before it hits the spikes
Daily Game Dashboard
A start-page for your daily puzzles — click to play, tracks what's done, resets each day
Pop Quiz
A trivia game where the four answers float up as helium balloons — pop the right one before the clock deflates
Coreward
Scroll down through 800,000 years of Antarctic ice — the core glows warm and sings high in interglacials, falls dark and low in ice ages, and hearing the ancient air is the whole point
Trueline
A precision bull's-eye spirit level — lay your phone on any surface and a jade liquid bubble sloshes to true, with a live pitch/roll readout and a tare-to-this-plane zero
Antinode
A keyboard-played light organ — hold keys and the WebGL field blooms into wave interference while the same notes ring out as sound
Strider
A walking linkage you drive by scrolling — a kinetic engineering plate whose four-bar legs stride across the sheet
Ephemeris
A working orrery of the naked-eye planets — real ecliptic positions drawn as a hand-coloured antique star chart you can scrub through time
Chladni Plate
A browser cymatics instrument — bow a metal plate and watch sand self-sort into resonant nodal figures
Solari
A split-flap haiku machine — the board composes a fresh 5-7-5 nature poem and clatters it into place letter by letter, a new one every few seconds
Bathymeter
A living survey chart — touch to sound the depths and watch real marching-squares contour lines ripple outward across the water
Loom
A working weaving draft — paint the threading, tie-up and treadling and watch real cloth interlace thread by thread
Abyss
An interactive deep-sea midnight zone — stir the dark water to wake bioluminescent plankton, scatter fish, and wait for something enormous to cross
Cut-Up
A Dada headline collage — type a line and every word becomes a torn paper scrap; "cut up" shuffles the words the way Burroughs and Tzara did
Moiré
A kinetic Op-Art field — move your pointer to warp two overlapping patterns into breathing moiré fringes; tap to switch between rings, rules and rays
Undercroft
A turn-synced stealth dungeon — every step you take, the sentries take one too; steal the key, reach the hatch, three floors down. New dungeon daily.
Warble
A hum-to-fly game — the pitch of your voice is your altitude; sing high to climb, thread the orb through the gates, and it draws your song as a ridgeline
Windread
A poem asleep as a drift of pale words — wave at the camera and your movement becomes wind, blowing each line into place until the whole poem wakes
Circadia
A live human body-clock — a 24-hour radial dial where melatonin, cortisol, temperature and alertness glow around the ring and a coral hand sweeps to right now
Halcyon
A live sky instrument — type any place and a WebGL shader paints its sky right now, lit by the real sun position and driven by live cloud, rain, snow, fog and wind
Labyrinth
The classic wooden tilt-maze — steer a steel marble through the serpentine board, past the drilled trap holes, into the goal cup by tilting your phone; fall in and it drops back to the start
Overtone
A Chladni plate you sing to — hum at your phone and your voice drives a steel plate until the sand self-sorts into the resonant figure of that note
Torchlight
A short story hidden in the dark — drag a small blue torch across the page and each line kindles as your light finds it, then lingers as a cold afterglow; the last line only lights once you have found every other
Maze TD
A sci-fi maze tower defense — wall the dead out completely, but they tear the walls down, and that is the whole game. Build a winding maze or seal a panic pocket, hold the core for ten waves.
Brain Dump
An ADHD-friendly brain-dump task sheet you fill in and tick off — preview it here, then download the HTML for a private, self-saving copy.
Vivarium
A design direction for this home page, reviewable beside the current one: every card is a live miniature of its prototype, one light drives every shadow (tilt your phone), filtering is physical, the UI is synthesised sound, and the newest build tells the truth about when the next one is due.